Don't Take Too Long (Tell Me How You Really Feel)
by rycewritestrash
Summary: Clarke thinks her and Bellamy should have sex-just not with each other. (Post-Season/Series 04 - Clarke makes it to the rocket - Canon Divergence AU - POV Bellamy - Fluff & Smut)
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note:** _I had these stories posted here originally, before I took a mental health break from writing and deleted my old account. I kept these stories up on Ao3, but I've noticed on FFnet people seem to leave much ruder comments. I didn't really have any bad critiques, but there was a lot of people telling me I needed to write more, or seemingly dissatisfied with the endings. Comments like, "is that it?" Is not encouraging at all and quite honestly can ruin my mood for that whole day. I am getting back into writing fanfiction, because it is something I love and offers some form of community that I enjoy taking part it. That being said, I am never obligated to provide for you, and that moment that this stops being something I enjoy is the moment that I will start to question why I would continue to do it. I am leaving this note on all my old stories, because I will be updated more regularly (once to twice a week) and I'd really appreciate if I could avoid these comments in the future. I don't want to have to resort to not reading the comments at all for my own sanity. Thanks for taking the time to read my thoughts & I hope you can understand where I am coming from. xx Be kind._

* * *

"We should have sex," Clarke announces standing in the doorway of his self-appointed room on the Ark. Her hair's still wet from her morning shower and she's wearing a baggy grey t-shit with holes scattered across the neck and a pair of shorts showing off the expansion of her thighs—absolutely beautiful and completely unaware of it as always.

_Hold on . . . did she just say sex?_

He blinks and squints at her like he's just waking up from a dream and he's not sure if she's real or not. In his defense, he's probably had dreams similar to this. He can't really think of a specific one, but they all kind of blur together in his mind and _holy shit—wait—she wants to have sex?_ He gapes at her, snapping out of his trance, jerking up into a sitting position, and promptly closes his book without bothering to save his spot, because _oh my god—Clarke wants to have sex._

_This is happening. _

He's glad he lets her continue before blurting out _yes _at the top of his lungs, or attacking her with his mouth and humping her into the wall making her scream his name over and over again, until it doesn't even sound like it belongs to him anymore.

"I just feel like we've both been really tense since we've come back here and we're fighting all the time like we used to before— well before we actually liked each other . . ." she says, biting her lip, a nervous habit Bellamy really wants to break by pulling her down and kissing her senseless, but he's still not moving, or talking. He thinks his brain is busy trying to rewire itself.

Leave it to Clarke Griffin to put him in shock at the prospect of casual sex.

But it wouldn't be casual—right? When has anything between them ever been casual?

There's also this thing about him being stupidly in love with her, which could be a problem, but having sex isn't going to make it more difficult to live with than it already is. At least that's what he tells himself, because he really wants to have sex—a lot of it—with her.

And she's right, they _have_ been bickering more recently and he's not entirely sure why, but if they're pointing fingers he's pretty sure she started it by being her prissy, know-it-all self, and honestly just completely ungrateful that he waited for her longer than he should've , and—admittedly—_they all could've died._

_"But we didn't die, Princess. So stop whining."_

_"I told you to use your head! How could you risk—"_

_"A simple thank you would suffice, sweetheart."_

_"Fuck you."_

_"You're welcome."_

And then Clarke continues speaking and he's reminded of how much his life just fucking sucks.

"I know our options are limited, but I'm sure Raven, or Echo would be more than willing. I know you have history with both of them and Echo's probably not your favorite person, understandably, but you seem to be warming up to her easily enough. Everyone can tell she's into you and seriously how long has it been since you've gotten laid?"

She says it all in one breath like she's afraid the words will escape her if she doesn't explain herself in the span of three seconds. Her chest is rising and falling at a rapid speed by the end of it and her cheeks are flushed, positively glowing.

That's when Bellamy's mouth starts working. Sort of.

"Um—huh?"

_Smooth, Blake._

"Sex, Bell," Clarke says slow like maybe he's forgotten the definition. "When was the last time you had it?"

He blinks at her.

"Jesus, do you even remember? It wasn't—oh shit." Her face falls and a shadow passes over the little spark in her eyes. Bellamy knows immediately where her thoughts have gone to, because he just fucking _knows _her, but apparently not enough to avoid getting his hopes up. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Crap, I'm such an idiot."

"Clarke—stop," he says shaking his head, rubbing his hands over his eyes and then looking back up at her like he half expected she wouldn't still be standing there and maybe he's imagining this entire scenario, because how can she be this obliviously cruel, _honestly_? Just dangling herself in front of him like that, only to pull away the moment he thinks he's close enough to catch her. "It wasn't—I've been with someone since Gina."

"Oh," she softens. There's still red in her cheeks and she looks almost shy, glancing down at her bare feet and back up just past his shoulder. Considering how this conversation started it's utterly ridiculous for her to only _now _be avoiding eye contact.

Bellamy wanted to disappear the moment he realized she was talking about having sex with other people—people they see and talk to every day— people they're stuck with for the next five years.

For the first time since they've ascended back into space, he wishes he was back on the ground—in the bunker—far, far away from her. But then he just _looks _at her and the thought dies instantly, because he can't fathom being apart from her for so long and it wouldn't ease the ache in his chest anyways.

"So what's the problem?" Clarke asks after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, apparently over whatever apprehension she was feeling, although she's still fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, tugging it above her waist, revealing her midriff.

He nearly chokes on nothing and has to cover it with a cough and physically force himself not to gawk at her bare skin and the mole shaped like a heart above her hip that he didn't know was there before and now he's pretty sure it's going to haunt him indefinitely.

Things would be a lot simpler if he'd fallen for someone a bit less clueless, but she has awhile to figure things out—five years to be exact.

Maybe he should tell her.

This is a good time, right? He _could _say it.

But what if she doesn't feel the same way? Then they're trapped here and it's awkward and what if he loses her as a friend, but still has to see her everyday while she tries to avoid him and—_No. Nope_.

So of course he swallows it down and says something else entirely.

"No problem," he clears his throat, mentally punching himself in the face. "Uh—but like you said there aren't a whole lot of options and we're going to be stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, no need to complicate things, right?"

She snorts. "So, what? You just plan on staying celibate forever?"

"I didn't say that," he grumbles, glaring at her shoulder when she flips her hair to the other side. The fabric his wet and clinging to her skin, dripping down to—

_Fuck. Is she not wearing a bra?_

"Why are you so concerned about my sex life all the sudden?" he snaps, gripping his knee until his knuckles turn white, fumbling for his book to place over his lap, casually reciting the names of different constellations in his head.

_Taurus, Cassiopeia, Lyra, Draco, Cass—wait, no—said that one—shit _. . .

"I told you," she says stiffly, crossing her arms, defensive. The action pushes her breasts together and Bellamy can definitely see the outline of her nipples through the thin layer of cloth.

_Don't look. Stop looking. Not looking. _

"And it's not just you—me too. We just—we never got to have fun on the ground. Well you did," she corrects, slanting her lips. Something flickers over her face and he almost thinks it might be envy, maybe jealously, but he knows he's reaching at this point.

She's suggesting he fucks Echo for Christ's sake. Seriously, _what the hell?_

_Huh. _

Well, that softened him up quick enough.

He closes his eyes and lets out a breath of relief, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"More than me anyways," she adds, still completely unaware of his internal battle with his cock.

_Absolutely fucking clueless. _

"At least in the beginning . . . now we can—I don't know—get that drink without worrying about letting our guard down and just _live_—even if it's only the eight of us."

"Right," he says flat, pretending he's not picturing Clarke having sex with six other people and having to be _nice_ to them the next day and just go on like his life is fucking dandy.

"Just think about it and stop your brooding," she sighs. "No one wants to deal with a sexless Bellamy for the next five years."

"I'm not brooding," he hisses, but by the time he looks up she's already gone, so who is he kidding?

* * *

Raven and Monty are playing cards in the command room, clearly avoiding whatever they should be doing, or taking a break at the very least when Bellamy finds them and plops himself down at the end of the table, hands shaking in his lap.

"Is he being weird?" Monty asks, without looking up in the slightest.

"Probably." Raven shrugs. "Got any sevens?"

"Go fish."

"Clarke thinks we should have sex," Bellamy declares before he can think better of it.

Raven grins, leaning back in her chair, placing her cards face down to give him her full attention. Monty whoops and pats him on the back. Bellamy's not entirely sure what's happening, but whatever it is, he doesn't like it. "Finally, am I right?"

"Huh?"

"We were wondering how long you two would last? Guess I lost that bet," she sighs like it's no big deal and Bellamy's totally not about to lose his chill.

"Murphy's never going to stop gloating about it," Monty says regretful.

"I'll remind him of that one time he shot me, so he'll be too busy crying to rub it in our faces."

"You guys _bet_ on us?" Bellamy snaps, suddenly aware of their conversation. "Seriously?"

"Stop acting so surprised." Raven rolls her eyes. "We have to entertain ourselves somehow. Not all of us get to have sex."

"Yeah and we've been gossiping about your unrequited love long before now, so it's really not news."

"Shit." He groans, cupping his hands over his face.

"Shouldn't you be happier about this? Prancing around all giddy, singing love songs, or I don't know—fucking your girlfriend until she can't walk?" Raven asks, casual.

"She's not my girlfriend," Bellamy grumbles, flicking a fuzz on his sleeve in an effort to avoid their gaze and not look like he's pouting about it. "She wants to have sex," he continues. "—with other people."

Raven and Monty exchange worried glances.

"What the fuck?"

"Yeah, that was pretty much my response," he says, dry.

"Uh—like an open relationship?" Monty asks, shifting in his seat, looking more and more uncomfortable the longer Bellamy takes to reply.

"_No,_" he says eventually. "Like she doesn't want to have sex with me at all—she just thinks we should have sex in general."

"Not with each other," Raven clarifies.

"Precisely."

"So, you and Clarke aren't—"

"Jesus fuck—no! We're not having sex. Am I speaking Trigedasleng or do you both just suck at listening?"

"Calm down, Blake. It's not our fault your girlfriend's an idiot." Raven glowers, poking him in the chest, until he looks at her and sighs.

"Sorry," he mutters, running his fingers through his hair. "Just—I'm really not in a good mood," he pauses. "And she's not my—"

"Girlfriend—right. Whatever," Raven says in a clipped tone that clearly means _bullshit. _"You're both idiots."

Bellamy scowls.

"There's a lot of that to go around," Monty says. And then, "So—who's it going to be?"

"What?" He blinks.

"I'm not having sex with you," Raven says. "Been there, done that, not going back."

"Was it _that _bad?" Monty asks, grimacing when Bellamy promptly kicks him in the shin.

Raven hums like she's seriously considering it. "Nah, just bad timing."

"I'm still here you know."

"I might be up for it," Monty says, ignoring him. "I'm single now, so . . ."

_Oh my god._

"Do you think Harper would mind?" Raven asks.

"I'd be more worried about Clarke, but she _did_ suggest it." Monty looks at him then. "You guys have a really strange way of working through your issues."

"Would both of you just shut up! Why did I even—forget it!" he shouts, slamming his fist on the table and then proceeding stomp off like the mature adult he is.

. . .

"Got any threes?"

* * *

"I need you to pretend we're fucking."

Echo doesn't bothering looking up from the carvings she's cutting into the wall behind her bed with a dagger. Bellamy doesn't have it in him to find the situation odd or ask her what exactly she's hoping to accomplish. She probably thinks she's decorating.

_It's Echo._

"Why would I do that?" she sneers.

"Why not?"

She pauses then, shifting her eyes along the shape of him long enough for him to regret coming to her at all and existing in general.

"Why not just fuck me instead, so there's no need for false pretenses?"

"Because I doubt I could get it up for you," is really the wrong thing to say judging from her ferocious growl and the way she hurls the dagger at him.

Bellamy winces when it catches the door frame an inch above his ear.

"Next time, I won't miss."

* * *

"So, what is your guys' stance on threesomes?"

"I'm flattered, but you're really not our type," Murphy replies, taking a giant sip of something that might pass for coffee.

Emori raises a brow, eyeing him up and down him like raw meat. "He's not half-bad looking," she decides.

"Babe, there's a lot I would do for you, but letting Bellamy's dick anywhere near mine is not one of those things."

"Hey!"

"Is your aversion to Bellamy, or just dicks in general?"

"Him—definitely."

"I despise you both."

* * *

Bellamy runs into Clarke later that night after successfully managing to avoid her though out the day and he wishes he was more upset about it, but as pathetic as it is, _he missed her_.

Never mind the fact that he finds her glaring at her reflection in his bedroom mirror, scissors in hand. He's only partially worried she's contemplating stabbing someone—possibly him, since it is his room and all.

"Hey."

She jumps, jerking her neck toward him, clutching her chest with her free hand.

"Shit, you scared me!"

"Really," he says amused. "I couldn't tell."

She scowls at him before turning back to the mirror, scrunching up her nose and huffing at a loose curl as it falls in front of her face.

She looks absolutely adorable and he feels those three little words knocking on his teeth just waiting to be set free.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

"Everything alright there, Princess?"

"I want a haircut," she declares, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "If I do it myself, I'll butcher it."

"Are you asking?"

"_Please._"

"Can't you find someone else? Like Murphy?"

She looks so horrified at that, he can't help the laugh that escapes him.

"Bell—"

"I'm only teasing, Princess. Hand them over," he says, extending his palm out. She beams, passing the scissors and then surprises them both when she leans up to peck his cheek, accidentally catching the corner of his mouth. She ducks her head immediately after, mumbling apologies, eyes trained to the floor.

He has to restrain himself from pulling her back and kissing her good and proper.

"How short do you want it?" He asks instead, clearing his throat and stepping around her to sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing for her to follow. She curls on the floor in between his knees.

"I think to my shoulders, maybe." She glances back at him with hooded eyes. "Will that look all right?"

His heart's loud and fast, beating against his rib cage like it's trying to escape.

"I think you'll look perfect."

She snorts. "You're only saying that, because it's you doing the cutting."

"Obviously." He grins, flicking her nose. She blushes bright and turns away abruptly, which is _interesting._

He gets to work and pretends he doesn't feel her shiver every time his fingers brush the back of her neck. He may be doing it on purpose by the time he's close to done.

"So," he says after a while. "Any luck?"

"What?"

"The sex thing."

"_The sex thing_," she mocks. "What are you, twelve?"

"Shut up."

She sighs, "No. Apparently, I'm not as appealing as you.

He arches a brow. "Meaning?"

"Well, you and Echo, obviously."

"Um—"

"How was it?"

"Clarke, what the hell are you talking about?"

She tries turning towards him and he stills her with his hands cupping either side of her face. She gasps and he really wants to he can make her do it again, so he traces a finger over her jawline. "Don't move," he says, low. "I'm not finished."

He feels her swallow when his fingertips graze her throat.

"I didn't have sex with Echo," he says after a beat.

"But she said—"

"Doesn't matter. It's not true."

She's quiet for a moment and then, "Okay."

"I may have asked Murphy and Emori for a threesome."

Her laugh is loud and obnoxious and can't help but smile while he waits for her shoulders to stop shaking so he can continuing to fix her hair.

"How'd that go?"

"Not well. Apparently I'm not as appealing as _someone_ thinks."

"I tried to seduce Harper," she says, ignoring the implication in his tone.

He snorts. "Did it work?"

"Obviously not. I think I may have frightened her."

"Good going, Princess."

She groans, covering her face with her hands. "When did we both get so bad at this?"

He pauses, setting the scissors down on the table adjacent to the bed and runs his fingers through her hair to check the length. "I wasn't really trying," he says, soft.

"Oh?"

"This was your idea," he adds. "It's not like I'm actually interested."

"That sucks," she sighs.

"Does it?"

"Five years is an awfully long time to be alone."

"I'm not alone, Clarke." He tugs her hair back, so she's looking up at him when he says, "And neither are you."

Then he kisses her and forgets all of the reasons he had for not doing it sooner.


	2. Chapter 2

Bellamy Blake is kissing Clarke Griffin and it's the best thing that has ever happened to him for about four and half seconds.

That's how long it takes for him to realize Clarke's not kissing him back.

He falters, feeling the pull of his heart sinking somewhere deep in his stomach. He almost curses out loud, but refrains, squeezing his eyes shut. His hands are still tangled in the locks of her hair. He slowly loosens their grip, releasing her lips in the same movement.

He pauses then, relishing the puff of her breath tickling his chin and ghost of her mouth on his.

He groans, sitting up fully, covering his face with his palms. "Sorry," he grunts when he feels her shifting uncomfortably between his legs. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

Her warmth leaves him and for a terrifyingly long second he thinks this is where she walks away and pretends he doesn't exist for the next five years, but then the bed dips and suddenly she's beside him.

He peeks out through his fingers, resting his elbows to his knees.

Her cheeks are tinged pink and her bottom lip is caught in between her teeth again, in that way that makes his fingers clench and his face hot.

If there is a hell, this is it—Clarke sitting beside him on his bed, nervous and beautiful, and completely out of reach.

"I'm sorry," he says it again, uncovering his face, because he's a grown man and needs to deal with this problem head on, not hide behind his hands like a coward. He runs his fingers through his hair, shoving the curls away from the sweat accumulating on his forehead. His palm finds the back of his neck and he rubs at it awkwardly, in a way that he hopes appears timid and forgivable.

"You're sorry?" she says and he barely catches it, because it's so soft and quiet; he thinks maybe it was something she didn't intend to say out loud.

He coughs, clearing his throat. "Yeah," he mutters, unable to meet her eyes. "I mean—I shouldn't have done that."

"You shouldn't have?"

"Is there an echo in here?" her asks, hoping it gets her to smile and maybe crack some of the tension in the air between them.

"I don't—" She blinks up at him, swallowing down whatever she wants to say, but he wants her to say it, even if it's something he really doesn't want to hear.

Maybe he needs to.

Maybe hearing it, _just once_—an actual formal rejection, with no misconceptions or false hopes, will smother the flicker of longing that's been burning a hole through his chest long before the second end of the world. Maybe even longer than he let himself realize before this moment.

He thinks she's been igniting fires in his soul ever since the dropship.

He closes his eyes and breaths through his nose. His knee jerks up, bouncing with nerves and he grips it with his fist, until his knuckles turn white.

"Just say it, Clarke," he pleads, but he can't bring himself to be embarrassed by the desperation in his voice.

_Just once_, he thinks.

And then maybe he can let her go, even if he has to let a part of himself go with it.

"I don't know what to say," she whispers and he forces his eyes open. They search hers for a moment and he nearly apologizes again, but for what he's not sure—for kissing her—for falling in love with her—for her not feeling it back?

It's then that he finally understands what she means. She doesn't know what to say, because he hasn't really said anything at all. He feels the weight of that revelation crushing his gut and it nearly knocks the air out of his lungs.

He's not the only one that needs to hear it—the confirmation of what's been lingering between them for ages, teetering against the current, threatening to break through to the surface.

"I'm in love with you," he says calm, before he can talk himself out of it.

Her breath catches and her eyes widen significantly. He thinks it can't be that much of a surprise. It's almost comical how transparent—how _obvious_—he is to everyone, but the one person who knows him best.

She really had no idea.

The heaviness in his chest lifts and the sense of relief he feels at finally saying it is overwhelming. He didn't realize how much those words were truly weighing on him.

He no longer feels like he's drowning.

"I'm in love with you," he repeats, because saying it once wasn't enough, and as good as it felt the first time, it feels even better the second.

"What?" she says quiet, voice cracking.

He keeps his eyes leveled with hers, unblinking. "I said it twice now," he murmurs, lips twitching. Her face is flushed pink, blood still rising to her cheeks. He lets himself smile a little, though not unkindly.

It's kind of nice to see her all flustered over something he's been carrying with him for what feels like an eternity.

It's not doing much for that flicker of want in his chest though and his pulse quickens.

"If you're waiting to hear me say it again, I think you may be pushing your luck," he says, ducking his head to shield his eyes. "I just—" he shrugs. "I thought you should know. I wanted you to know. I think maybe I needed to say it as much as you needed to hear it." He feels himself started to ramble, but doesn't know how to stop it from happening. "I'm sorry—if it changes things, or affects our friendship," he says, needing her to believe it.

"Bell—"

"I just don't think I could keep that to myself for the next five years without going completely mental," he continues. "It was hard enough on the ground and now we're back in space, stuck with each other indefinitely, and I really don't know how I could even stand the thought of looking at you every day without you knowing how I feel—how I've _felt _since before everything went to shit."

"Bellamy Blake," she says, so fond it nearly breaks his heart. Her hand reaches up to cup his face and he leans into without hesitation. His palm covers hers, watching as her hooded gaze lingers over his face, long enough for it to settle his nerves. He thinks he wants her to look at him like that for the rest of his life.

He tilts his head to kiss her palm before he can question it, or realize what he's doing. Something dark and heavy flashes over her face and the hope in his chest burns brighter than ever before.

She swallows and his eyes follow the movement of her throat.

"Oh my god, I'm such an idiot."

Out of all of the things he expected her to say, that definitely wasn't on the list.

She smiles and his heart leaps at the sight of her. She chokes on a laugh and ducks her head, hair fanning over her face.

"Hey," he murmurs, nudging her forehead with is. "What is it?"

She scoffs, pulling away from him, but still close enough that it doesn't leave much room for concern.

It doesn't feel like rejection yet, so he's hanging on to every ounce of optimism left inside him, which apparently is a lot more than he was ever aware of.

"This morning—" she mutters, eyeing him, cautiously, like she might be too embarrassed to finish the thought.

"Yeah, this morning was a bit strange," he relents and it startles a laugh from her that he absolutely adores. "I definitely wasn't prepared for that, I can tell you that much," he grins. She rolls her eyes. "Mildly awkward, all things considered."

"Mildly," she says, flat and amused. He smirks and reaches over to trace a finger down her jaw, feeling her breath catch under it.

He's suddenly so overcome with this unfathomable need to _know_ before she can say anything else—just a taste, just to be sure he's not completely misinterpreting what's happening here.

He leans down to catch her lips, soft and pliable beneath him. She melts into it, pressing back and that's really all he needed.

His tongue flicks out to taste her and she gasps, opening her mouth as he slides into her. It's more than he ever imagined—better than any fantasy he could have conjured in his head.

She giggles, before he can devour her and push her down on his bed.

It's probably for the best, he doesn't want to get ahead of himself, but—_god, he wants her—_writhing in his sheets. He wants her as weak for him as he's been for her all this time.

She pulls back, slow, maybe even a bit reluctant, but he could be projecting.

He kisses her again, just to settle the possessive desire stirring between his legs.

He releases her enough to let her catch her breath, passing air back and forth between them. He keeps a hand curled around her neck to keep her close without smothering her. His thumb rubs soft circles under her hair, now resting just barely above her shoulders. His touch releases the tension beneath her skin.

She laughs again and suddenly he thinks maybe there's something he's not getting—a joke he's not yet a part of.

"What?" he asks, feeling a tinge of doubt clutching the back of his throat, but it's barely there—a ghost of what once was.

"When I came to you and said—well what I said—" she falters, struggling through her nerves, adorably so.

"You mean when you said we should have sex. Yeah I remember," he smirks, relishing the blush deepening in her cheeks. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Yeah? Me too," she chuckles a bit. "I mean myself, obviously," she rolls her eyes at her own words. "I just—I meant what I said."

His eyes drop and he frowns, uncertain to what she's getting at. "You want to have sex with other people?"

"No," she says at once, eyes widening, and he lets out a breath of obvious relief.

"Then what—"

"I wanted to have sex with you!" she says, finally.

He furrows his brows, though he can't help the wide grin covering his face. "Then why—"

"I freaked out," she confesses, shielding her eyes, all shyness again. "I planned on telling you how I felt right then and for some reason I blurted out the complete opposite of what I intended. Well, not the _complete_ opposite, but you know what I mean."

"I'm pretty sure, I don't," he deadpans. "You're really fucking confusing, I hope you know—I'm getting non-stop mixed-signals here."

She huffs at him, all the stubbornness and hardheadedness he loves. "I wanted to have sex with you, obviously," she retorts. "I just didn't plan for it to come out the way it did—and then you looked at me like you were just as shocked as I was, and you didn't say anything for the longest seconds of my life—don't look at me like that—you _didn't_! So, I just blurted out the next thing that popped in my head to save myself the humiliation!" she finishes in one breath.

He blinks at her. "Your seduction techniques need work, Clarke. No wonder you couldn't get Harper into bed."

"Shut up, you asshole." She laughs, slapping his arm. "It worked out didn't it. Look where we are!"

"In all fairness, Princess, I believe it's you in _my_ bed," he says smug. "And considering I kissed you—both times, I might add—it seems _you're_ the one getting seduced, not the other way around."

She rolls her eyes, but the heaviness is back at full force when she looks at him. "And am I?" she whispers against his lips, fluttering her eyelashes. "Getting seduced?"

He grins at the challenge in her voice, pushing her back on the bed, so he can hover over her, caging her in at all sides. "You tell me," he says low in her ear, catching her lobe between his teeth. Her breath hitches against his chest.

He trails kisses over her jaw, down her neck to the exposed swell of her breasts, sucking her skin there, growling when he leaves a mark. He's going to leave marks all over her body,_ he swears it._

"Only in places I can cover up," she pleads, sighing into his touch. He falters for a moment, not realizing he was speaking aloud.

"If you're lucky," he recovers quickly, shoving the neck of her shirt down, along with the cup of her bra, so he can latch himself to her puffy pink nipple, sucking it into his mouth. "Jesus, Clarke, you have no idea what these tits have been doing to me."

"Yeah?" she moans, arching her back into him as he throws her leg over his hips, grinding down on her hot center.

"You never said," he groans against her skin.

"What?" she breaths, blinking up at him with a hooded gaze, filled with want and need and—something else he thinks he recognizes, but needs to hear her say it.

"How you felt," he murmurs, moving back up to brush her lips against hers. She runs her fingers down his arms, sending chills through his spine. "Tell me," he demands with a kiss, biting her bottom lip, until it's as puffy and red as her erect nipple. He growls, losing his will to stop himself from giving in completely and ripping all her clothes off with his teeth. "I think I've waited long enough."

"You have, haven't you?" she says in awe, touching his cheek with her fingers. He latches onto two of them, sucking them into mouth. Her eyes flutter closed and he pinches her hip in retaliation.

"Don't make me ask twice," he warns, releasing her fingers and lifting his shirt over his head in one movement. He grabs for hers next, tugging the bra off with it, tossing them both across the room, not caring where they land, or if she ever finds them again. "You're testing my patience," he murmers, kissing down the soft, newly exposed, skin of her midriff to the clasp of her jeans. He pops the button open with his mouth.

"Am I?" she asks, feigning innocence with those big, ridiculously blue eyes. He raises his brows.

She's enjoying teasing him entirely too much, he decides, ripping her jeans off, leaving her underwear in place. She tenses when he throws both her legs over his shoulders, dragging her down to the edge of the bed, until his knees hit the floor.

"Do I need to _make_ you say it, is that it?"

She squirms under his palms, squeezing at her hips. "You'd like that, huh, Clarke?" he says, rolling his tongue over her name. "Does this get you all hot and bothered?" He snickers at the thought, "I wouldn't have guessed—considering you're a bossy little know-it-all half-the-time." He huffs, nipping the inside of her thigh. "You should have said," he murmurs, peppering kisses up to the apex of her thighs, where he can see she's soaked though her panties. He hovers there, breathing in her scent and blowing air over the fabric, until he sees her muscles clench with need.

"That's all for show, yeah? You _like_ being told what to do, don't you, baby?" he murmurs over her, tugging the hem of her panties over her right hip, placing a soft kiss to the mole there.

"Bellamy." She pants, chest heaving. He slides his palm over her center, smirking when she jerks her hips up and whines when his hand leaves where she wants it most, reaching up instead to squeeze her breast. She yelps when he catches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching slightly. Her hips wiggle, lifting up to feel something, but he pulls back before she catches his chin.

"Tell me what you want, Clarke," he says, grabbing her other breast with his free hand, so they're both getting the same attention. She moans, arching her back, pushing them into his palms.

"You," she huffs all annoyance and need. "I want you. Please, Bell," she begs.

He's painfully hard in his pants now and immediately regrets not taking them off sooner—she all but cries out when his hands leave her body to free himself from the rest of his clothes.

"What about what I want, Princess?" His hands return to her skin, trailing over her thighs.

"Anything, anything, anything," she chants. "Please, Bell, _please_. It's been so long," she sighs and he relents a bit, kissing her clit through panties, letting her rub up against his face.

"Yeah?" he mutters over her, before sucking her clit through the fabric. He grabs her hips, shoving them down, spreading her thighs with his shoulders. "I know baby, I know," he croons. "I'm going to take such good care of you, Clarke, don't worry. You'll get there."

He pushes her panties out of the way, brushing his fingers over her entrance. "Jesus, you weren't kidding," he says in awe. "You're dripping.

She huffs, sitting up on her elbows to glare at him. "If you're quite finished indulging your galactic-sized ego, I'd very much appreciate getting off now."

His eyes widen at her stormy expression and he chokes back on a laugh. "I was getting to that," he says impassive.

She groans, throwing herself back on the sheets. "Bell," she keens, squirming her hips. "You're killing me."

"Poor thing," he grins, licking up her slit.

She cries out when he sinks two fingers into her easily, curling them up, hitting her right where she needs it. He teases her with his tongue and sucks down, vibrating her clit with his groans, until she's shaking with need, puckering around his fingers, knuckle deep inside her.

He releases her from his mouth, letting his thumb take its place, rubbing fast circles over her clit. He crawls up her body and her hips thrust up where he's no longer holding them in place. He stills his fingers inside her as he lays down, pressing his dick against her hip, grinding into her side.

"That's it, fuck me back. Come on, Princess."

"I'm close." She gasps and then, "_Please_."

He jerks his fingers, meeting her thrusts and quickens the pace of his thumb. She flutters against him, legs shaking, as he keeps at it, slowing down when he feels her slump into his side.

"There it is." He breathes out, kissing the crown of her head. "My sweet girl."

"Oh my god." She moans, panting into his neck. He continues brushing her clit, softer now, coaxing her down. "I love you."

He grins, nudging her with his head, so her can see her face all flushed and gorgeous. "Now, that wouldn't be, because I just gave you the best orgasm of your life, would it?"

She kisses him gently, licking his lips to taste herself. "How do you know it was the best?" she says, smiling into his mouth. "You haven't even seen what _my_ hands are capable of."

He snorts and rolls himself on top of her, taking control of kiss, until they're both out of air. Her breasts push up against his chest and he adores how her skin feels, bare and naked beneath him. He reaches up to tease her lips with the fingers he fucked her with minutes before. She scrunches her nose at him before sucking them into her mouth, licking them clean. He ruts against her, burying his face in her neck.

"I want you inside me," she says when he pulls back, removing his fingers from her mouth.

"Say it again," He murmurs over her lips, lining himself up.

"I want—"

He rolls his eyes, shushing her with his mouth. "No, not _that_. The other thing."

"Oh," she says, soft.

He lifts himself up to look down at her expression, watching her eyes drop and her mouth open, as he presses into her slowly, restraining himself from sinking into her heat in one quick thrust. "You're beautiful, Clarke."

"I love you," she moans, wrapping her legs around his waist, pushing his ass with the back of her heels, until he's bottomed-out inside her. "I'm so in love with you, Bellamy."

"Fuck," he groans, dropping his head to sink his teeth into her breast, biting down and then sucking, soothing the bruised skin with his tongue. "I love you, too, baby. I love you so much," he whispers, peppering her chest with kisses. "Are you good? I'd really like to fuck you now."

He jerks when she clenches down around him, milking him with her muscles. "Please," she begs.

He's pulling back before she even finishes the word, lifting her hips off the mattress, squeezing her thighs, and pounding into her hard and fast. She cries out when he hits a spot she likes and he slows his pace a bit, wanting it to last. He throws one leg up over his shoulder, pushing her back and fucks into her, slow and steady.

"There, there. Right there, Bell. _Oh_," she whines, clasping her arms around his back, scratching her nails into his skin, when he thrusts into her harder than before.

"You feel so good, babe. Is it always going to feel like this?" He grunts into her neck, licking up to her ear. "I swear you're never going to leave this bed if you always feel like this, Clarke," he growls. "I'm going to tie you down, so you can't move—fuck you, until that's all you know how to do."

She heaves against him, kissing his cheek, searching desperately for his mouth. "Yeah?" she hisses.

"Yeah, babe, you'd like that, huh? Does it get you off?"

She can't answer coherently by the time he starts pounding into her again. She clenches down, crying out, coming undone around him, teetering quickly into the next one, bringing him over the edge with her. He jerks, humping into her erratically, before collapsing on top of her, breathing heavy.

He pants over her for a moment, waiting until he gains most of his sense back, before pulling out of her warmth, shushing her with a kiss when she whines against him. He hauls himself off of her and tugs her into his side, wrapping an arm around her body.

"Fuck," he says, for lack of a better word.

"That was—"

"Yeah," he breathes, clearing his throat. "Sorry if I got a little carried away."

"I didn't think you'd be that much of a talker," she smiles soft, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes.

He stifles a laugh, pulling his head back to study her face. "I'm not usually. Well, not like _that_," he relents. "But—" he pauses. "You seemed pretty into it, which was like really fucking hot, and then—" he shrugs. "I guess I'm into it too."

"You guess?" she teases.

He laughs and kisses her, chaste. "Okay, yeah, I'm totally fucking into it. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She shrugs her shoulders, pressing into his chest. "It was good, right?"

"Yeah, Clarke," he says, smiling fondly. "It was good."

"Good," she sighs, snuggling into him. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair. "You never did get to look at it."

"What?"

He nods at her. "Your hair," he grins. "What if you hate it?"

"I'll break up with you, obviously," she scoffs.

"Yeah, okay." He rolls his eyes.

"The mirror's not going anywhere, Bell. I'll see it later," she replies with a yawn, kissing his chest. "I'm sure it looks lovely."

"It really does," he agrees, letting the silence and her breath against his neck lull him to sleep. She'll be there when he wakes up.


End file.
